WATERS 
OZARK 


FROM AN 
SPRING 


HOWARD 


L. TERRY 




Class : 

Book ^A 

Copyright N° 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




The rocks of old around it stand, 

So rudely carved by the storm god's hand." 



WATERS FROM AN 
OZARK SPRING 

A Book of Verse 

By 
HOWARD L. TERR* 




BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 
I909 



Copyright 1909 by Howard L. Terry 



All Rights Reserved 



£1 3 



The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 



CLA251S73 



TO MY WIFE 

There is no earthly love but child for parent, 
Parent for child — all else is human passion, 
Dying like roses, tired of beauty ; 
And that which I call love for you, O wife, 
Is pure devotion, thinking of you alway. 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Proem 7 

Edgar Allan Poe. 9 

"Sunset" ,.. 10 

Elm Spring ll 

The Last Oak of Sherwood Forest. ... 12 

Sportsman 's Song 14 

An Ozark Idyl 15 

Two Falls I Know 19 

The Volcano 19 

Madrigal 20 

To John Keats 21 

The Four Winds 21 

The Cyclone 22 

Fragment 23 

The Death of Chatterton 23 

To a Bird 24 

The Discovery of Gold 25 

A Song from Ireland 26 

Antithesis 27 

A Passion Poem 28 

Maiden's Song 29 

5 



CONTENTS 

Page 

To Cupid 29 

To a Bed 3° 

The Vision of Beauty 32 

On Visiting Plymouth 35 

Fragment 37 

Aphorism 37 

Constancy 38 

Abraham Lincoln 39 

The Poet's Dream 39 

The Deserted Ships 41 

To a Child 52 

The Poet to Science 53 

Scene from "A Summer Night's Dream" 54 

When True Love Confessed 60 

Weep Not 61 

Dashing John 61 

The Modern Magazine 62 

The Uncouth Boy 63 

Conclusion ... 64 



PROEM 

Tis sweet, beneath the trees of evening shade, 
When noisy day has ceased his merry 
sound, 

To ponder on the parts thy hand has played, 
For then the weary heart its joy has found; 

And pleasant are the thoughts the evenings 
bring, 

When from our toil we rest our weary teet, 
Then, far away, it seems a voice does sing, ^ 

"The joy of finished labor, sure, is sweet."* 

Have you not found it so, O weary heart? 
When deeds well done the envious friend 
defied, 
That, failing, sought to spoil the little part 
Which you would play on earth before you 
died? 

I know the joy, the rapture of the hour, 
However humble though the task I did, 

It was performed with all my innate power — 
I could not have done better had God bid ! 

Oh, sweetest meed ! the knowing we deserve 
Reward that earthly splendors do not 
meet, — 

Such things for empty souls a purpose serve — 
But this is glory man cannot defeat. 

^Finished labor is sweet.— Horace. 
1 



I've learned that which is termed the humblest 
toil, 
I've mingled with the merchants, and I 
know 
That he who lives near nature and the soil 
Is he on whom God's sweetest blessings 
flow. 

My feet the furrow hour on hour have 
traced, 

My brow the sweat of honest toil has shed, 
My weary limbs have slow and slower paced, 

Until the dews of even 'round me spread; 

I know the glory of a happy home ! — 
Alas ! that home for me is now no more; 

Oh, sad the day when from it I did roam ! 
Now sorrow swells the tears that trickle 
o'er! 

Cursed be the wickedness of modern wealth ! 
Cursed be the vampires of the humble 
hearth ! 
And doubly cursed that power whose silent 
stealth 
Is blotting out the purest souls of earth. 

Farewell, my home, my garden, and my 
field- 
Farewell, ye brutes, whose mutual love I 
shared, 
Farewell the joys that wholesome life did 
yield — 
'Tis Fate's decree that none of you be 
spared. 

8 



EDGAR ALLAN POE 

He lived in a world that was truly his own, — 
In a world that was wonderous strange, 

And that world was his tome, 

And that tome was his home, 
In the sky — in the sky ! 
Where the stars of the firmament range. 

His soul was a harp and it played for a world, 
For a world that was heedless and cold; 

For the world had no ear, 

Or at least would not hear, 

Would not hear — did not know 
Of what stuff was this wonderful mold. 

His heart was a heart of a sensitive kind, — 
In its depths was the well of his tears; 

'Twas the heart of a poet, 

But the world did not know it, 
Would not know — could not know 
It was one that should conquer the years ! 

He lived in a world that was truly his own, 
In a world which he fashioned himself, 

In a world he conceived, 

When this one deceived, 
Discouraged, deceived! 
With its glitter, its falseness, its pelf. 

Tis th' world's fatal error— when Genius 

appears, 
To know not the worth of the thing; 
With the past borne in mind, 
Still, still we were blind, 
9 



We were deaf — we were blind! 
To this man taught by angels to sing ! 

"SUNSET" 

I love my home, my cheery hearth, — 
I love the true and good on earth, 
And all that warms, and all that cheers, 
And all that drives away our fears; 
And her who does abide with me, 
And these fair children on my knee, 
And Him who blesses this dear home, 
And guides my steps where'er I roam. 

O, home ! O, sweet composure ! 
When from the world's exposure, 
Into thy welcoming rooms I go, 
And feel the fire's bright, warming glow, 
And greet the loved ones waiting near, 
What bliss on earth is half so dear? 

I often longed for other joys 

When these would seem too tame, 

And sought the scenes where gold decoys, 

And makes or wrecks a name; 

And joined the whirl of pleasure there 

That mocked the fleeting hours, 

Until this spot would seem as drear 

As woods when winter lours; 

But oh ! the bliss on coming back, 

And oh ! the comfort here, 
And oh ! the music of the crack 

Of greenwood burning near! 

10 



Let others tell of pleasures gay 

That fade as they appear, 

But none will ever come my way, 

However far and wide I stray, 

To fill my cup so full of cheer, 

To nestle to my heart so dear, 

As this sweet home I've builded here. 

ELM SPRING 

Below our farm a mile or so, 
The Elm Spring's waters rise and flow ; 
By spreading elm and towering spruce 
She turns her crystal waters loose. 

Around about it cresses grow — 
Above, the wooded violets blow, 
The cowslips in the grasses stray — 
And ever th' crystal waters play. 

The rocks of old around it stand, 
So rudely carved by th' storm god's hand, 
And on their dripping side so cold — 
The moss and lichen have taken hold. 

'Tis there the cows from pastures near 

Come to drink of th' waters clear, 

And many a lover of solitude, 

Has cheered his heart in the shady wood. 

And ever th' crystal waters flow, 
And ever happy lovers go — 
And ever, ever warblers sing — 
To happy hearts at th' Elm Spring. 

1 1 



THE LAST OAK OF SHERWOOD 
FOREST 

''Strike me not, O, sturdy woodsman, while 

as yet I am not dead, 
Centuries have rolled beneath me since I 

raised on earth my head, 
And I stand a lonely monarch — for my race 

has passed away- 
Looking on the stars at even and the busy 

world by day; 
I have seen my comrades falling all around 

me, one by one, 
So I ask you, leave me standing till my vital 

parts are run; 
Then, when all my leaves have fallen, and my 

arms are hanging low, 
And I feel no more the rain drop, or the win- 
ter's sturdy blow; 
When my trunk is dry and splitting and my 

roots imbibe no more, 
Fell me, and, while I am falling, listen to my 

crash and roar! 
With me then shall go the stories which the 

ages caused to be, 
From the Saxons' early ages through the days 

of Chivalry; 
When I saw the fields around me soaking oft 

with human blood, 
Conflicts waged by greedy nations coming 

here from o'er the flood; 
When I learned the sign of battle in the 

night so clear and still, 
By the glimmering camp-fires burning bright- 
ly on the distant hill; 

12 



When I saw the knights in armor on their 

chargers ride afield, 
And the hills returned the echoes when the 

brazen bugles pealed. 
England, garden thou of warfare, nourished 

with the nation's blood ! 
All thy conflicts I have witnessed through my 

days of hardihood. 
Nightly would the Dryads gather 'round my 

trunk so huge and strong, 
Like the Druids 'round their altar told in 

story and in song; 
But no more I hear the bugle, nor behold the 

knight sublime— 
They are hurled away forever off the flying 

axis, Time ! 
Then I saw the cities 'round me raise their 

spires high in air, 
And I often said within me, 'Slowly grows 

the world more fair;' 
But, alas ! when all was gaining, I was losing 

day by day, 
From the surging, restless progress slow my 

comrades passed away. 
Where are they? I cry, I shudder; you have 

robbed me, let me be ! 
Use your axe upon another, strike not such an 

aged tree ! 
I will hurl my limbs upon you, crush your 

dwelling with my breath, 
In your dreams I'll fall upon you, mock your 

agonies of death ! 



13 



If you cut a notch upon me with your temper- 
ed blade of steel, 

So again I tell you, leave me, ere my warning 
words are real! — 

Ah, he hears me, every moment, like the years 
his form recedes, 

While my throbbing heart within me on a 
glorious future feeds!" 

SPORTSMAN'S SONG 

Awake ! arise ! the red'ning skies 
Tell morning fair is coming, 

And hunters we in forest free 

Shall hear the partridge drumming. 

The crackling logs and barking dogs 
Shall greet us on awaking, — 

Then ho ! for the meal from gun and reel 
We soon shall have abaking! 

The bounding deer our shouts shall hear 

Ere day again be dying, 
And many a trout from streams about 

Be in our baskets lying. 

Then off! away! at break of day, 
O'er woodland, hill and valley, — 

Our hounds shall track and rifles crack, 
As to the chase we sally! 



H 



AN OZARK IDYL 

THE MARSH MILL WATERFALL 

A CHILD'S SONG 

My father has a happy world — 

And it is fenced around, 
And there are many lovely things 

About my father's ground : 

I love the flower garden which 

My mother tends with care, 
The roses and the hyacinths, 

So delicate and rare; 

I love to see the plowman in 

The furrow plow the field, 
I love to roam the meadows where 

The soft grasses yield; 

The barns my father's castles are, 

Oh ! Many a rainy day 
Have Jane and I spent romping and 

A-tumbling in the hay; 

I love my gentle little cow 
With hair so sleek and brown, 

I milk her at the morning hour, 
And when the sun goes down ; 

I love the little piggies, too, 

That snort and grunt all day; 
I laugh to see their infant fights, 

1 laugh to see them play ! 



15 



And how I love to climb the hills 

And hear the wild birds call, 
Or sit and hear the music of 

The Marsh Mill waterfall : 

The wheel goes round, and round, and round, 

For many a weary hour, 
The farmers' wheat is grinding, and 

The miller makes his flour. 

A spring of crystal water flows 
That feeds the rushing stream, 

Down yonder where the valley slopes 
And sunbeams rarely gleam: 

The hills are high around the spring, 

And dense the forests be, 
Oh ! never have I seen a spot 

More beautiful to me! 

The miller wears a funny cap 

And apron, all of white, 
He's busy, busy all the day, 

And happy ev'ry night. 

He used to make us little bags 

And fill them full of meal, 
And write our names upon them when 

We stood and watched the wheel. 

Oh, round, and round, and round it goes 

For many a weary hour. 
The farmers' wheat is grinding, and 

The miller makes his flour. 



16 



The miller loves the waterfall 
That makes his wheel go round, 

The music of the water is 
To him a joyful sound. 

He told me, every moment, 

Ev'ry moment, ev'ry day, 
The waters in their falling seem 

To sing to him this way: 

"I serve thee ! Oh, I serve thee ! 

I serve with all my heart, 
With all my strength and days of length 

And all my natural art; 

"A hundred springs my being is, 
Their births in mountains are, 

And there I rear my waters clear 
To travel swift and far; 

"I have no time to tarry here — 

I have no time to play, 
For my labors are my neighbors — 

I serve them night and day. 

"A thousand head of sheep and kine, 

As many horses, too, 
Depend on me, my waters free, 

As grass does on the dew. 

"I turn for thee, and gladly, too 
Thy pond'rous wooden wheel, 

With all my strength and days of length 
My flowing grinds the meal. 

17 



"I feed the little tender sprouts 

That frolic on my bank — 
The willow's root — a monster foot — 

The grasses growing rank. 

"A fearful battle over there 

It was my fate to see; 
And oh, the grief that found relief, 

And soothed itself in me ! 

"And many a weary traveler 
Has kneeled upon the bank, — 

With clothing torn and features worn 
He thanked his God, and drank; 

U A purpose God has given me, — 
To serve his creatures here; 

With all my strength and days of length, 
I flow and bring them cheer. 

"Forever and forever, O, 

My course is to the sea, 
A life begun but never done — 

My life for others be!" 



18 



TWO FALLS I KNOW 

The fall of Minnehaha is a thing, 

Whose beauty will enthrall the lightsome 
breast, 
As lovely maid when love is at the Spring, 
And love's sweet, buoyant spirit gives no 
rest. 
Niagara, Niagara ! God voiced thee with a 
roar! 
The thunder and the lightning hardly add 
One whit to thy sublimity — no more 

Can man desire of thee, for thou art nature 
mad ! 

THE VOLCANO 

I heard a mighty mountain clear its throat, 
I saw it burst with lava and fierce flame, 

I felt a trembling, and the crackling note, 
And roar of streaming lava to me came; 

I saw the heavens darken, and the glare 
Of th' wild flames come bursting through 
the gloom; — 

I turned, and saw a city rising fair, 

A moment more— I saw the city's doom. 



19 



MADRIGAL 

Thy sighs are breaths of roses sweet, 
Thy voice, the music of the lyre, 

And could my lips thine own but meet 
But once, 'twould solace my desire. 

The soft love-light within those eyes, 
Whose darkness matches raven gloss, 

Is such, it seems, as angels prize,— 

But mine's the gain, and theirs the loss. 

The magic waves that o'er me leap, 

From pulse to pulse, from vein to vein, 

When in my hand thy fingers creep, 
Is as the bud's when summer rain 

With gentle warmth lightly falls, 
And to the withering flowers yields 

The nourishment their beauty calls, 
If they must bloom in bower or fields; 

But when the lights are burning low, 
Thy phantom form before me floats, 

And love's soft passions gently glow, 
While in mine ears are sweetest notes. 

And there my reverie fades and dies, 
The phantom glides away, and night 

Steals o'er me, and my drooping eyes 
Await Aurora's car of light! 



20 



TO JOHN KEATS 

Poor Keats, when Nature made you she for- 
got 
To put the stiffening in, and you succumbed 
To little hurts that stronger breasts feel not : 
You died from the flutter of your own ecstasy, 
Immortal dream of Beauty, and line phantasy ! 

THE FOUR WINDS 

The south wind, it warms us, 
The east wind, it chills, 

The west wind alarms us, 
The north wind — it kills! 



21 



THE CYCLONE 

I am the cyclone, 
Fearful and dreaded, 
Speed I immeasurably 
Swift o'er the country; 
I am God's warning 
When he is angry! 
O'er village and city 
I'm sent on his errand, 
Dealing destruction, 
Death and wild carnage 
'Midst a weak people 
O'er whom I am master. 
Oaks on the hillside, 
Lords of their kingdom, 
Tremble before me, 
Sway, and snap sharply, 
And crash to the valley; 
Lake, stream, and ocean 
Are tost into fury, 
Scattering broadcast 
Spray to the heavens ! 
Ships are as feathers, 
And fonder before me ! 
Temples of granite, 
Massive and lofty, 
Tumble and crumble, 
Under me, passing. 
I am the wind god, 
I am the Terrible, 
I am God's warning 
He thought and designed me ! 



22 



FRAGMENT 

When I behold the firmament at even, 
And see the constellations there divine, 

Each star does seem a portal into Heaven, 
Through which the light of Paradise does 
shine. 

THE DEATH OF CHATTERTON 

And he is dead; the child whom Genius 
crowned, 
And left to Poverty's remorseless will: 
Here in this shabby room the corpse was 
found, — 
He called for Death — Death came and all 
was still. 
The priceless manuscripts his mind produced, 
In shreds about him lay, unsought, un- 
known 
To heedless millions, whose apathy induced 

The violent deed. Too early he had grown 
Above the world's mentality, and chose 

The unknown state, by desperation driven: 
The angel host in unison arose, 

Forgave him — and he that fell unshriven, 
Beheld the soul arise, and saw it borne to 
heaven. 



23 



TO A BIRD 

See that brilliant bird 

Mounting to the tree! 
If I knew each word 

It pours out to me, 
What a hidden world 

Were to me revealed ! 
Like a bud uncurl'd, 

That so long had sealed 
Beauty in its fold 
Of exquisite mold. 

What joy in thy heart, 

Born of life so free! 
Trying thus to part 

In sweet melody! 

What is that which thou 
From thy perch so high, 

Calleth to my brow? — 
Thoughts which cannot die. 

Men may look on thee, 
Longing to know how 

They, too, might be free, 
Even as art thou ! 

But in thee I find 

A spirit spark divine, — 
Music of a kind 

That is more than mine, 

Brought from some far realm, 
Which I fain would know,— 

Such a place, I deem, 
Where good spirits go ! 
24 



THE DISCOVERY OF GOLD 

1849 

If thou couldst from a hilltop see 
A bivouac of infantry 
Encamped upon the plain below 
Beneath the moon's soft falling glow- 
Recumbent forms in quietude 
Around the piles of burning wood, 
And not a sound of good or fell, 
Except the watchword, "all is well," 
That, like some unexpected sound 
That breaks the spell of those around, 
And travels on and on until 
'Tis echoed from a distant hill : 
Those forms aweary, locked in dreams, 
(While from each glist'ning rifle gleams 
The flashing rays that leap around, 
Mocking the fire's dance on the ground) 
Know not of danger — should you see 
Advancing hosts come o'er the lea, 
And hear the bugle in the camp, 
Behold the waking and the tramp — 
The dead start into life again— 
And roar of battle on the plain, 
Then thou would'st know how sudden, 

strange, 
Came consternation o'er that range 
Of wildest nature, mount and glen, 
As yet unchanged by arts of men, 
When precious gold, washed from the stream, 
First startled man by its fair gleam, 
And roused the world from East to West 
To sudden motion without rest ! 



25 



A SONG FROM IRELAND 

I come from a land where the shamrock and 

thistle 
Are emblems of love in the homes of the isle, 
Where free was my youth as the curlew 

whose whistle 
I heard in the woodlands, o'er copse and de- 
file; 
I've kissed the blest stone in our dear castle 

Blarney, 
I've paddled my boat o'er the waves of Kil- 

larney, 
I've searched the dark chambers of Fingal's 

vast cave, 
I've climbed the high mountain, I've swum 

the dark wave; 
I've scaled the steep peak where the boldest 

resign, 
The wild beast subdued with this dark eye of 

mine. 
My father had castles and riches untold, — 
I cared not for them and the life they unfold, 
And many a youth who had long sought my 

heart 
Remembers the day when I bade him depart; 
I loved but the mountains, the meadow, the 

sea, 
(The roar of the ocean was music to me !) 
The shadowy wood and the pinnacled height, 
The fast racing waves and the bright stars of 

night; 
And so, all untamed, the sweet days passed 

away, 



26 



But now, far from home, are the raven locks 

gray, 
And memory nurses the sorrowful strain,— 
"Oh! give me my youth and my island 

again! 

ANTITHESIS 

Should we applaud for that which is not 

good? . , ]7 

Should we uproot a weed and call it iood t 
Should wise men bow their heads unto a 

'Twould beat' the four winds blowing all at 
once ! 



27 



A PASSION POEM 

Oh ! canst thou not when night is low, 
And storms are blowing o'er the lea, 

Forget thyself a moment, O, 

And let thy thoughts drift back to me? 

I lived for thee — I feel, I know 
That thou wert made alone for me, 

For all the fires that in me glow 

Were brightened by a look from thee. 

And must I dream of other days, 
While living out this life alone, 

The while the demon, Memory, plays 
In mock'ry of the pleasures gone? 

The bliss that was ! — the blasted plight I 
And thou that wert the soul of both ! 

I see them and thy wedding night — 
The groom, the bride, the solemn troth ! 

If mine's the pain, is thine the bliss? 

To me no second love can be ! 
No ! God will never sanction this, 

Nor free thee of my misery! 



28 



MAIDEN'S SONG 

I said farewell once on a time 
But said the word with pain; 

And every day I breathed the word 
Until we met again. 

The sun came up a hundred times, — 

In glory set at even, 
I thought of him — I prayed for him 

To Mary dear in Heaven. 

A ship came sailing o'er the bay, 

A ship with treasure laden, 
I hailed the ship — he stepped ashore, — 

I was a happy maiden ! 

TO CUPID 

O, Cupid, Cupid, why so mean 

To pass so hard these hearts between? 

Why with such stealth and treachery move, 

And sever hearts once locked in love ? 

Why in and out so blindly fly, 

And wound or heal— O! tell me why; 

Oh ! can it be that Venus gave 

Such cruel tactics to her slave ? 

Or can it be you pleasure find 

In acting so ?— Ah ! you are blind : 

O'er streams of life must ripples roll, 

But you're the wave that wrecked my soul ! 



29 



TO A BED 

O, little bed 

With spread of red, 
And many parts of iron about you, 

How many a night, 

Tired, sick, or tight, 
This world were hard, indeed, without you ! 

The roof above 

Of th' old alcove, 
Slants over you, O, bed, all downy, 

7 he while I sleep, 

In Dreamland peep, 
And join the sport of elf and Brownie. 

Here, many a night, 

In th' pale moonlight, 
I've kingly felt in sweet repose, — 

No pomp and gold, 

But manifold 
The bliss the poorest creature knows. 

Oft through my head 

Old legends sped 
Of gallant knights and ladies airy, 

And crazy kings 

Whose death cry rings 
Still in my ears enough to scare me. 

You are the spot 
Where 'tis our lot, 
To rest, to love, to heal, to diet, 



30 



Where man's brought in 
This world of sin 
And ushered to eternal quiet. 

On you, O bed 

My pillowed head 
Has dreamed till it was sick of dreaming, 

Or worried deep, 

Or planned to reap 
Some fickle fortune distant beaming. 

O little bed 

With spread of red, 
I'm drawn to you as to no other, 

On you I've had 

(World-sick and sad) 
My sweetest dream — -of God and—mother. 



V 



THE VISION OF BEAUTY 

I wandered over many a hill 

And dragged myself along, until 

I rested at the close of day 

Beside a woodland, far away, 

Where man was seldom known to stray. 

And then the radiant evening spread 
Her transient splendors overhead : 
The moon, that, rising o'er the height, 
Plainer and plainer in my sight, 
Each moment cast a mellower light, — 

Till lastly, when the closing day 
Had changed its hue to leaden gray, 
She reigned supreme; and lovelier yet, 
As when the eye first beauty met, 
A sight the mind can ne'er forget. 

And there was stillness all about — 
No sound of bird, no childish shout; 
But all above, and all below, 
As dying winds would come and go, 
In sleep was nature left to grow. 

Dark shadows of the trees around, 
Like specters crept upon the ground, 
And for a moment, nothing stirred, 
Then, scarcely audible, a word 
In unknown tongue I feebly heard. 



32 



And following quickly in its flight 

A figure dressed in snowy white 

Floated before me in the air. 

Her arms and heaving breasts were bare, 

Of which the sculptor would despair. 

And for a moment I was filled 
With wonder, awe, and strangely thrilled, 
My veins with gushing pulses swelled, 
As if my death were slowly knelled, — 
So strange a scene my fear impelled. 

I know not how the minutes went, 
For all my thoughts on her were bent; 
But now I wonder at it all— 
The shadows shrouding like a pall, 
And then that low and phantom call. 

With many a winning courtesy 
She raised the fire of love in me, 
She made it glow and fiercely burn, 
She made my inner passions yearn, 
Like that which dawning love must learn. 

But lo ! she floated in the air, 
And grasped her loosely flowing hair, — 
Her drapery vanished in the night, 
The goddess form was bared to sight, 
Illumined by a flood of light 1 

sculptor, with thine art divine, 

1 see thy masterpiece decline ! 
O Michael Angelo, thy brush ! 

A thousand fancies to me rush, — 
Such form a saint's resolve would crush ! 

33 



That face ! that form ! that figure ! all ! 
Had answered to the highest call; 
O, rarest vision, could it be 
Thou wert the chosen of the three — 
The golden apple went to thee? 

O, eyes that tears had never shed, 
O, heart that sorrow ne'er had fed, 
O, love and beauty manifold, 
A seraph wandered from her fold, 
Wert thou, wert thou, O heavenly mold. 

With throbbing heart the sight I viewed, 
And, as a maiden who is wooed, 
Afraid to utter thought or sound, 
Afraid to mar the stillness round,— 
I lay, a prisoner, on the ground. 

And then it was oblivion took 
Possession of the lonely nook : 
The trees around, the moon above, 
The vision in that silent grove, 
Had disappeared by magic move. 

When morning light returned and found 
Me lying there upon the ground, 
It softly crept beneath mine eyes, 
And cut the cord that languor ties, 
And woke me from my wild disguise. 



34 



ON VISITING PLYMOUTH 

And this is Plymouth ! — land of Pilgrim love ! 

The home of Alden and Priscilla fair, 
Afar through distant years I see them move, 

I see Miles Standish with his "martial air". 
Behold the rock, the dark and weathered rock, 

Where first they stepped that bleak Decem- 
ber day, 
Rising alone beside the city's dock, 

And far as eye can reach is stretched the 
lovely bay. 

But up the path that leads o'er yonder hill, 
Where once the single cannon and the 
guard 
Were stationed, lie their bodies, dust and 
chill, 
Read on th' stones here scattered o'er the 
sward, 
In Latin writ, and in Old English, too, 

The curious lines, as quaint as they are old, 
Which we must solve, like riddles, to construe, 
Of our old English sires, so pious, staunch 
and bold. 

From persecution was their lot to flee, 
To lands they dreamed of very far away, 

Where they might live and feel that they 
were free 
From sceptered rule and blinded bigotry; 

I see them gather and the ship set sail, 
I see them driven onward to their fate, — 



35 



"The land! the land!" — the eager Pilgrims 
hail 
The land, but frozen land, with little to 
elate. 

Then was a moment when the boldest hearts 
Might shrink from lingering in such a 
clime, 
But caprice of a king, of all man's arts 

The first and last denounced in prose and 
rhyme, 
Awaited their return. The bleak shore, 

However barren, still was freedom's zone, 
(When men are men they cannot wish for 
more) 
And there it lay, the land they sought, ice- 
bound and lone. 

O you who see the place as it is now, — 

A spot of comfort, beauty and delight — 
Does there not flash instinctive to your brow 
One thought of pity for those Pilgrims' 
plight? 
One tear of sorrow? — Have you not a soul 

That rises to the moment of the hour, 
And feels for them, — embracing here the 
whole 
Of what they were and did — bequeathing 
us a dower? 

The acorn of a mighty oak were they! 

The nucleus of a nation ! In each breast 
The spirit of a lofty purpose lay, 

That lived through circumstance the bitter- 
est! 

36 



Sickness — famine — warfare ! Yet despair 
Was not in them a portion of their days — 

Theirs was faith and courage that is rare, 
Even of Greece and Rome where Time his 
laurel lays. 

Their tale is told— their hardships, joys and 
loves, 
By harps that sang a loftier song than 
mine, — 
By one in whose sweet lines the spirit moves 
Of them our country honors for all time: 
Their tale is told, and dust are those that 
made it, 
But the bright flame they kindled still sur- 
vives — 
Scene of the drama ! City where they played 
it! 
And Plymouth's column rearing, perpetu- 
ate their lives! 

FRAGMENT 

The cold, bright moon shines out tonight 
On yonder barren field, 
The dew drops sparkle in the light, 
And distant objects meet the sight; 
But oh, what lies within my breast — 
The sorrows manifold compressed, 
Can never be revealed. 

APHORISM 

Be a boy as long as you can, 
There's plenty of time to be a man. 

37 



CONSTANCY 

When first I kissed that lovely face 
It seemed that nature and her race 
Of fairy artists vied their skill 
To make the fairest, and to fill 
That single mold with all the good 
That makes the charm of maidenhood: 
Again I kiss that face today — 
Some forty years have passed away, 
The brows are knit, the locks are gray, 
And round about it wrinkles stray, 
The heart has lost its childish play — 
The bloom of youth forever gone, 
But still, unchanged, my love lives on. 



38 



1 8o9— ABRAHAM LINCOLN— 1909 

O, thou, the child of poverty and care, 
If I would make a parallel of thee, 
I feel I am not wrong if I compare 

To Him thou followed— Man of Galilee: 
In lowliness was thy nativity, 

Thou noble offspring of the virgin soil, 
Thou child of meekness and humility, 

And noblest exponent of manly toil. 
The care worn face my cheeks the tear-drops 
soil 
When I behold, for thine was fire that 
burned 
To light the world. Thy will, what foe could 
foil? 
Thy purpose, e'en by armies ne'er was 
turned 
From its wise course; — thy fall, a nation's 

groan : 
Thy task for man performed, God took thee 
for His own. 

THE POET'S DREAM 

I'll marry my muse some happy day, 
A muse most beautiful, jubilant, gay, 
We'll live in a castle up so high 
The lowest portals look over the sky; 
I'll have my papers and pen and ink, 
And sit all day in my chair, and think; 
I'll spatter the ink o'er many a clime, 
And bring it back in the form of rhyme; 



39 



I'll sing with the muses and dine with the 

gods, 
And measure my verses in poles and rods ! 
I'll company keep with the aerials free, 
And I will love them until they love me : 
I'll kiss their cheeks and plait their hair, 
And dance with them on their plain of air, 
And lift a cup of nectar cold 
As they did in Olympian days of old; 
And when with rhyme there is nothing to do 
I'll send a loving epistle to you, 
And cancel its stamp with a kiss or two ! 
Oh ! a poet ne'er knowing a tear nor sigh, 
Will I be in my castle, up in the sky. 
The people with glasses on earth below 
Will climb a high mountain to look at me, 

Oh! 
And I'll toss them bunches of flowers sweet, 
And nice little cakes the muses eat, 
Each day my wife will prepare a dish, 
Choicer by far than a god would wish, — 
Ambrosia, nectar and roses' dew, 
And a dash of wine old Bacchus drew 
From an antideluvian keg! 
Locked in my castle, up in the sky, 
Merrily living as time goes by, 
I'll pass my days and pen my dreams 
Where the moon and the stars flirt with their 

beams, 
And there I'll reap, and there I'll sow, 
Nor taste the sorrows of earth below ! 



40 



THE DESERTED SHIPS 

A Sea Tale from the West 

"And how is this, my fellow man, 
And how, my comrades three, 

That I possess such yarn as this 
Who never sailed the sea? 

"Oh, ho! you wink your weather eye, — 

I know its meaning well — 
So you believe that I deceive, 

No tale of sea can tell? 

"Then sit ye down my comrades three, 

And hearken to my tale, 
How night and day for leagues away, 

Unmanned two ships did sail." 

He was a rugged Western man 

Who came to know the sea, 
With eager face he walked apace 

Beside his comrades three : 

It was a stretch of ocean beach, 

The waves did roar and roll, 
He fed his eye on breakers nigh, 

That stirred his rugged soul. 

"Oh, ho!" he cried, "I like the sea, 

I like the waves and roar, — 
Now sit ye 'round — your nerves I'll sound 

With tale ne'er told before." 



41 



And they did sit as he did say 

Upon the sands and shale, 
And there he stood while iced their blood 

That made their cheeks to pale. 

"And how came I by this? you say — 

A man of th' West countree — 
Though rough my looks I'm schooled in 
books, 

In tales and historic 

"I got it from my great grandad, 

And he from his, I'm told, 
They loved the free — they sailed the sea 

Where'er its waters rolled. 

"It was the good ship Flying-Fish, 
With three masts pointing high, 

As spick and span as any man 
E'er sailed beneath the sky. 

"And ev'ry man who made her crew 

Had vowed a vow on high : 
To find that land upon whose strand 

Man blessed might live and die. 

"Ah, simple minds — ah, foolish men, 

That dreamed to happy be, 
All free of care in th' enchanted air 

Of island in the sea: 

"Where suns are warm, and moons are mild, 

And gentle breezes blow, 
Where men no more desire their shore — 

Where lotus flowers grow; 

42 



"Utopian land— a fabled isle, 

In famed Aegean Sea, \ 

Where ills of Eld have been withheld, 

And all earth's misery. 

"Ah, well-a-day, and well-a-day, 

Those foolish, luckless men! 
Bright was the day they sailed away, 

But ne'er to land again! 

"They saw the golden sun go down 
Where long had dwelt their sires; 

They said farewell— they hailed the swell 
Of sea that never tires. 

"They saw the golden sun come up, — 

The white-caps rolling far; 
Theirs was rejoice with ringing voice, 

As th' doomed so often are. 

"Far to the south the vessel sailed, 

And reached the Afric shore, 
They passed the strait— the Mid Sea gate- 

They hailed the dusky Moor; 

"Far to the south — Calypso's isle, 

By Cyprus and by Crete, 
Fair blew the wind — far, far behind, 

The sky and islands meet ; 

"But on the tenth day out they spied, 

A speck against the sky, 
It nearer drew, it larger grew— 

They watched with fearful eye. 



43 



"And when that thing had neared the ship, 
Ah, they were filled with fear — 

Right well the crew its meaning knew— 
Some dreadful doom was near! 

"It was a noxious cormorant — 

A foetid, carrion thing, 
It sought a mast* — such sign did blast 

Those men's fond reckoning. 

" 'Oh! woe is ours!' the captain cried, — 

He swore a fearful oath — 
He drew his gun and fired upon 

That bird which he did loathe. 

"No sound it made, nor moved at all — 

'Twas silent as a trap — 
To scare the thing each man did fling 

On high his sailor cap. 

" 'Thou art a solitary bird, — 

I know it by thy beak — 
No bird could be thy companie, — 

E'en I abhor thy shriek; 



*During the composition of this poem, to verify 
myself, I looked up the habits of the cormorant, and 
by a strange coincidence, came to this: "Its voice is 
hoarse and croaking, and all its qualities obscene. No 
wonder, then, that Milton should make Satan im- 
personate this bird . . . and sit, devising death, 
on the Tree of Life. Aristotle expressly says the cor- 
morant is the only sea-fowl that sits on trees." 



44 



" 'Thou art a harbinger of woe — 

A sign all sailors dread — 
I will not rest till I am blest 

To see thee lying dead.' 

"The captain scarce had made his vow, 

Than loud the bird did cry— 
The frightened crew together drew— 

'What's that 'neath yonder sky? 

"Far o'er the sea they saw a sail, 

Full ev'ry canvas drew — 
They raised the glass — O God, alas ! 

That ship the black flag flew ! 

" 'Aloft! aloft!— set ev'ry sail!' 
The captain's voice rang loud; — 

Quick as a fang the sailors sprang— 
And manned each mast and shroud. 

"Tops — top-gallants — main and jib, 
Were spread as ne'er before — 

She swung— she dipped— she leaped— she 
slipped— 
Like thing possessed she tore ! 

"But still was perched above that ship 

Which flew before the wind, 
That wicked bird— it never stirr'd, 

But perched-it seemed it grinned! 

"Ah, day on day and night on night, 

The pirates chased that bark; 
Now near, now far, 'neath sun and star— 

By day-light and by dark. 
45 



"The hopes of th' one they were high; 

The others' ire was, too, 
Who cursed and railed as on they sailed, 

But close they never drew. 

"Still perched that evil cormorant. 

The efforts of the crew 
To drive away that bird, or slay, 

Were vain, and foolish, too. 

"They tried by every means, but failed, 
That evil bird to slay, 

When near the thing it took to wing- 
It knew the game to play. 

"Hard strained the ship as winds increased, 

But high she bore and well, 
Until — a crash— quick as a flash, 

Down, down the main mast fell ! 

"The mast the bird had perched upon— 

That bird demoniac- 
Was snapped and fell— th' exultant yell 

Of th' pirates answered back ! 

"With fearful shriek that frightened bird- 
Like ghost in shadows dressed, 

Shot through the air toward th' pirates there, 
Who near and nearer pressed. 

"Can aught escape that crippled be 
When pressed full hard and fast? 

The hour was come— the crew were dumb— 
The battle on at last ! 



4 6 



"The pirates overhauled that ship, 

But dearly bought the day— 
The deck ran red with slaughtered dead 

Where man and pirate lay. 

"They spared not one; those pirates grim, 

With thirst for blood and gore 
They cut and slashed-the blood it splashed, 

They threw the wounded o'er! 

"Oh, God, was there ever a scene 

Like this, unjustified? 
The pirate crew infuriate grew— 

As swift the knife they plied. 

And yell on yell, and oath on oath 

'Mid clash of steel arose; 
And flash of arms of men in swarms, 

And shrieks, and groans, and blows ! 

"The deed was done. The night drew on- 

The waves received the slain; 
It was not good— this deck of blood— 

They sought their ship again." 

The Western man, he paused for breath— 
"Go on!" — his comrades cried,^ 

"We sit to hear with eager ear." 
"Then list," the man replied. 

" 'One crowded hour of glorious life', 
You've heard the line, my men— 

That murd'rous crew— they sought to do 
The meaning of it then ! 

47 



u Thcy lashed their prize beside their ship, 

Exultant in their task, 
Then back they sprang and loud they sang 

Spread round about a cask: 

The Bacchanal 

"Fill high the glass— the fight is won! 

We sing, who never died— 
Their flesh and blood is fishes' food— 

We are the ocean's pride; 

"Let others toil for what they get, 

We win by right of force— 
Our home, our grave, the ocean wave — 

Our path the trackless course; 

"We came not of our own desire- 
Why should we toil to live? 

By others' blood we gain our food, 
What though at times we give! 

"Let others mark by deed or line 
The boundary of their home— 

Ours is the free and boundless sea, 
Our roof, the azure dome! 

"Fill high the glass— the fight is won — 

We sing, who never died: 
Their flesh and blood is fishes' food— 

We are the ocean's pride! 



4 8 



"They sang— they drank— the orgy grew— 

Till they were men no more— 
A frightful wreck— each stretched the deck— 

The rum was running o'er ! 

"Oh, ghastly scene ! ah, horrid scene ! 

As, one by one they rose— 
They cursed— they raved— each face was 
graved 

With terror . . . What are those? 

"About the deck a host appeared— 

The spirits of the dead ! 
With weird shout they rushed about— 

It was an hour of dread. 

"The frenzied lot were chased about 

Like fishes scared by shark— 
They raved, they yelled, by ghosts impelled, 

Upon that haunted bark. 

"There were two brothers in that crew— 

Together always found— 
Their minds were one as life went on, 

Held by a common bond. 

"Of these one fled with horrid shriek 

Above, about, below,— 
He seemed to see a spirit free 

Close in to deal a blow. 

"In vain he climbed, he dropped, he ran— 

Close on his heels it flew— 
With terror crazed, his cutlass raised— 

That thing, he stabbed it through ! 

49 



"Alas! alas! what had he done? 

There at his trembling feet, 
With bleeding side his brother died; — 

He sank with moaning meet. 

"Relentless spirits! heaven sent— 
They drove them one by one 

To walk the plank— they yelled, they sank 
For sharks to feed upon : 

"Splash— splash— splash ! — 

As one by one they fell — 
The hungry shark arose in th' dark, 

And bore them through the swell; 

"Splash— splash— splash ! — 

As o'er the vessel's side— 
The yells of th' men were terrible, when 

They plunged below and died; 

"Splash— splash— splash ! 

Was e'er a night so grim? 
Midst wild alarm the sharks did swarm, 

And crunched them, trunk and limb. 

"Splash— splash— splash ! — 

The god of Justice bore 
Above that ship with its rise and dip, 

Till ev'ry man was o'er. 

"And then a deathly silence fell, 

Save waters lapping nigh- 
Like that which falls in cavern halls 

When th' lost have ceased to cry. 



50 



"And they, the ghosts of them that died 
Those men the pirates slew — 

The task well done, like setting sun 
To another world withdrew. 

"Then o'er the sea the moon arose, 

And lit that place of strife, 
But all were gone— the ships, alone, 

Gave not a sign of life. 

"Oh, was ever a scene so fair, 

So silent, beautiful, 
Where just before was death and gore 

And Justice dutiful? 

"Oh, was ever a scene so fair, 

On lone and silent sea? 
The moon shone red, the vessels sped 

In solemn majesty. 

"And I am told that to this day 

Their hulks are met at sea, 
Lashed side by side they drift and ride- 

Those hulks a moral be : 

The Moral 

"Eternal law of righteousness- 
God worketh out His will— ^ 

No land of bliss on earth there is— 
Death follows those that kill!' 

He was a rugged Western man, 
Who came to know the sea— 

With eager face he walked apace,^ 
"Farewell, my comrades three." 
5i 



TO A CHILD 

Child of the loveliest, 
Symbol of happiness! 
Would that thy future could 
Always be thus! 

Sunshine more radiant 
Out of the firmament 
Ne'er was than that bursting 
Out of thy soul. 

Something mysterious, 
Stolen from heaven I 
Feel creeping over me 
When thou art near 1 



52 



THE POET TO SCIENCE 

Keen Science ! thy cold heart beats not like 

mine ; 
For mine is warm and does not wound like 

thine ; 
I love to clothe with romance and old myth, 
Those things I know of— old ideals and 

scenes, 
Until I'm lost in Fairyland, and with 
My mind ecstatic by this psychic means, 
I live in th' fullness of my happiness; 
But when thou comest I am all distress ! 
Thou fillest me with knowledge not desired,— 
My soul is touched with truth, of deep im- 
press, 
My dreams depart, life changes, I grow tired. 



53 



SCENE FROM 
"A SUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM" 

Scene 

A throne in a bower in the Realm of Bliss. 
The queen of the Realm seated on the throne, 
Courtiers, attendants, crowds of fairies and 
sprites in gorgeous and fantastic attire. 

A winged boat bearing Richard and Isa- 
bella appears; Comet, the prince of the 
Realm, in the bow. 

Chorus of Spirits, singing. 

They have come, they have come, 
In a sandal boat, 
With wings for oars propelling, 
Rising and falling on ev'ry note 
Of our voices, rising and swelling. 

First Spirit. 

We have searched our realm afar, 
We have robbed the ocean bed, 
We have taken from each star 
Countless gems as on we sped. 

Second Spirit. 

We have made the flowers grow 
With a fragrance more intense, 
We have caused the streams to flow 
With a joyous affluence. 



54 



Third Spirit. 

We have caused the moon to shine 
On our world with softer light, 
We have brought the Muses nine 
From their famed Parnassian height. 

All 

We have given our heart and hand, 
Every art that spirits know 
To improve this lovely land, 
For these mortals from below ! 

Comet. 

My queen, behold them ! 

Queen. 

What have we here ? 

Comet. 

Love-sick mortals from the lower sphere ! 
I grew a-hungered after such a trip, 
And sought the honeysuckle for a sip, 
At such an hour when mortals are abed, 
And Morpheus puts an end to joy and grief, 
I found them, lovesick, sighing for relief, 
And brought them hither, all the spirits went 
To work to welcome us on joy intent, 
And decked your realm with many an orna- 
ment! 



55 



Queen. 

Such sport is rare and past my understanding ; 
But stop the boat— your couple should be 
landing. 

Comet. 

O ! spirits, attend ! 
The bride disembark, 
The groom will descend, — 
Oh, ho ! for a lark ! 

As the spirits do his bidding, they all begin 

to sing, Comet alights, too, the boat 

floats away. 

Chorus of Spirits and Fairies. 

From the world below, 

To our world above, 

With your heart aglow, 

Fluttering with love, 

You have come tonight, 

At our brother's calling, 

All our world's delight, 

Its blessings on you falling! 

Thy gown of lilies made, 

Thy veil the autumn mist, 

Thine eyes with night arrayed, 

Thy cheeks with roses kist, 

Thy heart's and soul's desire 

Is love's eternal fire. 



56 



Richard. 

Oh! heavenly bliss 

What joy is this? 
What realm unearthly, Isabel, 
Is this, where all these spirits dwell t 

Isabella. 

Yes; how and where? 

This gown I wear 
Is not the work of mortal hand,— 
You took me o'er my father's land 
To spend a happy evening hour— 

Comet. 

And you are in our spirits' power! 

Richard, unheeding. 

Methinks through heaven's portals pour 

More blessings than I ever sought before 

Upon me, and, O, Isabel ! 

You who have held me off for years, 

Now yield without a murmur, my eyes swell 

WitrTjoy unearthly, blinded with glad tears I 

They pace back and forth, seemingly obliv- 
ious to the host of spirits around them. 

Comet. 

Hist, spirits, hist ! the charm is working well, 
Bring forth the minister and sound the mar- 
riage bell. 

57 



{A spirit appears in the garb of a clergy- 
man, an altar with lights or tapers upon it 
arises in front of the throne, the clergyman 
approaches the altar, and, impelled by the 
spirits, the lovers 'follow. As the minister 
begins to speak, the marriage bells, in control 
of impatient spirits, peal forth, the throne 
and altar vanish, and the spirits depart in all 
directions.) 

Richard, awakening, alarmed. 

Why, Isabel, alas! what hour? 
Loud peal the chimes in yonder tower. 

Isabella. 

O, Richard, we have slept, oh pray 
Come, hurry home, 'tis almost day! 

Aftermath. 

Dreams and love and happy hours, 
Heart's desires attaining; 
Maidens fair and bridal bowers, 
Oh, how joy was straining! 

Spirits, that in childhood day 
Drive the cares of life away,— 
Things impossible to be 
This glad night were company. 



58 



Who would not a sweet dream have, 
When the day is ended, 
In a bower where waters lave, 
And rose breaths are blended? 

Tis I, 'tis I, 'tis I! 

Yes, I would a sweet dream have, 

When the day is ended, 

With my love and fairies by 

Where rose breaths are blended. 

Then goodbye to one and all, 

Phoebus scales the mountain wall ! 



59 



WHEN TRUE LOVE CONFESSED 

Yon moon tells tales of love and sighs, 
Of blushing cheeks, and drooping eyes- 
Of that sweet time when last I went 
To my dear one with love's intent, 

And trembling, heard her "Yes"; 
And so I strike the sweetest string 
Of my soul's harp wherewith to sing 

Of that time's loveliness: 

The lover's heart that wells with joy, 
The blushing maiden, dimpling coy, 
The warbler, from whose magic throat 
Is poured the rarest music's note, 
The flowers, full of fragrance grown, 
The plain, by Heaven's gard'ner sown, 
The beasts, that revel in the grass, 
The bashfulness of lad and lass, 
Declare by action, word, or way 
The glory of the Springtime day: 
On ev'ry thing that breathes and grows 
The rarest breath of Heaven blows ! 

And thus the time I did caress 

My blushing girl, and heard her u Yes". 



60 



WEEP NOT 

Oh, weep not, weep not for the wilted rose, 
A thing of beauty, it is gone, but those 

Whose hearts are hearts of faith 
Will find another blows ! 

DASHING JOHN 

Dashing John has come to town,— 
He is tall and slender; 

Billy Brown 

Can knock him down 
John's so weak and tender! 

Yes, Billy Brown 

Can knock him down, 
But when it comes to mashing, 

John the tall 

Can beat them all, 
So they call him "dashing." 



61 



THE MODERN MAGAZINE* 

Lucifer! star of the morning, how thou hast 
fallen/ 

A mirror of the present age, 
A snob's attention to engage ; 
I look upon its glowing page, 
And turn away in righteous rage. 

I see it read on ev'ry hand,— 

It spreads its poison o'er the land, 

As winds the grains of desert sand 

That blights what green might there expand. 

A flaunting thing with pictures made; 
A literature of common grade, 
And with sensation well arrayed, 
It goes about— the devil's played. 

*A few magazines are a real blessing, thanks to 
the men and women who make them. 



62 



THE UNCOUTH BOY 

The uncouth boy has come our way, 

And he is covered over 
With clinging straws of meadow hay, 

And sprinklings of sweet clover. 

He lives over there, 
By the side of the hill, 
Where the road makes a turn, 
And crosses the rill; 

His mother is dead, 

And his father 's in bed,— 
Sick as a fellow can be ! 

Of brothers and sisters a dozen there are, 
All of them younger than he ! 

Of learning there isn't a bit in his head, 

Excepting the lore of the hills ! 
Of toil— his forever! but slight the reward, 

And many, oh, many the ills ! 

His pleasure is sought 

In the pipe he has wrought 

Of the cob from the corn in the field, 

His solace is found 

In the dark wood around, 

Where his troubles to nature's voice yield. 

And so runs his life- 
It is all he has got— 
But never complaint has he; 
For he knoweth not of a better lot 
Or that such a thing might be ! 

63 



CONCLUSION 

I said unto my soul, 

"There is more to think about in this world 

Than we can think of; 

Life is too short 

To master an art, 
And this world we get only a blink of." 



6 4 



|5QV 29*1908 



iropy on to hat oiy ? 

NOV 29 1909 



